


Protego Maxima

by superagentwolf



Series: With Religious Fervor [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Graves and Credence move around each other in strange circles, each revolution growing smaller and smaller, until their orbits cross. Credence is afraid of learning, and Graves- Graves is afraid of teaching.Yet here they are. Credence is learning how to control his Obscurus and Graves is teaching Credence.Magic isn't the only thing taught and learned, though.





	1. Protego

They are in the building, tall ceiling and hanging clock, witches and wizards moving fluidly around them.

He’d asked Credence if he was all right joining him. _You don’t have to come._

_I want to,_ the boy had said, head still bowed. Graves hopes he can lift that chin, just a little.

“Mister Graves,” a secretary nods, heels clicking as she passes by.

He doesn’t have time to respond before she’s gone.

“Let’s go,” he tells Credence softly.

They make their way to his office and as he goes he feels the eyes of a hundred on him, watching, curious. Whispers traveling on the spider’s web of gossip. Graves feels it burn and itch between his shoulder blades.

Credence is watching him he thinks, sideways glance pinned on his darkly shimmering cloak.

When they step out into the hallway, Credence is half a step behind Graves, and that half-step is his mistake.

“You! Boy!”

It’s Steadwell. People had always assumed that the man got along with Graves, probably because Steadwell is just as ‘authoritarian’. Graves doesn’t like him, though. He may be a workaholic, but he’s not a fanatic. He’s always had the impression that Steadwell is a bit _too_ dedicated to the cause.

Credence starts, brow furrowing as if he wasn’t aware he was visible. His posture shrinks a little- Graves hates that- and he suddenly looks the same as before, hunched and submissive.

Everything happens so quickly that as Graves turns on his heel Steadwell is already yelling (he can’t speak in an inside voice; another thing Graves dislikes).

“You’re late. You’re meant to be with the others. You good-for-nothing young types only make time for pleasure, is that it-,”

Graves growls a little too loudly, involuntary, and Steadwell starts. The man turns, spinning a little, shocked, and he is just in time to get a face full of Graves, intimidating as he pins the other Auror down with a cold stare.

It dawns on him later that this is probably the most outward display of emotion he’s ever had at work.

“He is with _me_ , Steadwell.”

The other Auror is silent, speechless, blinking in the face of Graves’ fury. He stays frozen for a minute as Graves watches, unwilling, compelling. **_You_** _will be the one to leave_.

So Steadwell leaves, apologizing in some dazed and empty words, making his way to the offices for new recruits.

Credence sniffles in the silence and Graves feels his anger condense, dissipating into a pit in his chest. He gently ushers the boy around the corner and into his office, not bothering to light it. It smells stale.

“Don’t think about it,” Graves coaxes, unthinkingly putting his hands on either side of the boy’s face.

Credence shivers, breath ragged as tears fight in the corners of his eyes. Graves exhales, the sigh frustrated and sad.

“…I won’t,” Credence promises, sudden, and Graves feels his heart lift a little.

“Good. Sit?” Graves offers, extending a hand, hearing the soft slide of a chair moving towards Credence.

His other hand leaves Credence and he watches the boy’s hand move up, as if to catch it, before freezing. He thinks it best to allow Credence to think he hasn’t noticed.

He moves about his desk, looking for anything, making sure Grindelwald hasn’t done anything lasting to his space. He finds nothing out of order and he wonders in vague, disgusted amusement if the dark wizard had even stepped foot inside. _Not likely, unless he had to,_ he thinks. _If I’m honest, I don’t even use it that often_.

He’s more of a footwork man. He gets around the city day by day, keeping an ear to the wire, watching from shadows to ensure that the people are protected.

There’s a knock on the door.

Credence jumps a little and Graves pauses, sending him a questioning look.

_Would you rather-?_

Credence nods, resolute, and Graves lets his hand linger on the boy’s shoulder as he moves to open the door.

“Yes?”

It’s Queenie.

“I just wanted to welcome you back,” the woman says, smile as effervescent as usual.

“…thank you,” Graves replies, ducking his head momentarily by way of thanks.

He is fairly familiar with her- she is Tina’s sister, after all. He still wonders what she’s doing here, though.

“I _did_ come to say hello,” she reassures him. “-and I know it wasn’t you that tried to- well, I just wanted you to know there’s no hard feelings.”

_Ah._

“…yes,” he manages, unsure of how to reply. “I understand.”

She turns to look towards Credence, over Graves’ shoulder, and he forgets for a second to keep his shields up. It only takes that moment and he knows she _sees_ , _knows_. Her mouth opens a little, startled, but she does not speak.

He is grateful for that.

“Credence, honey?”

The boy turns a little and Graves watches him, trying to be supportive.

“…yes?”

“You’re welcome in the Permit Office any time, dear. I’ll make you some tea whenever you want.”

Her earnest smile gives Graves hope. Credence blinks a little, stunned, and Queenie pats Graves’ arm before turning and leaving.

* * *

They are sitting quietly, tea steaming on the table, when an alarm begins to ring.

Graves tenses, setting his cup down before drawing his wand.

“Stay here,” he tells Credence, reassuring.

Credence opens his mouth, worried. _I don’t want him to go_.

“No. I’ll come with you.”

Graves stops, one hand on the door, wand faltering a little. Credence thinks he has surprised himself, too.

_You would risk it?_

_I would,_ Credence tries to say without words.

“Stay close,” Graves requests, opening the door.

The hall is dark. Graves peers around the corner, watching. Waiting.

_Something’s inside,_ Credence thinks, watching the open doors further down the hall move in an unseen breeze. The temperature drops a fraction.

“ _Go_ ,” Graves roars, spinning on his heel, eyes filled with sudden fear.

It’s not fear of what’s coming, though. It’s fear for _Credence_.

Credence watches the man’s hand reach forward as if to push Credence out of the way and then he sees a blur of color, dark black and gray, barrel into the man.

Graves roars and Credence stumbles, gasping, hands hitting the floor hard as he watches the fight before him. He can see Graves twist in midair, spinning to shoot something bluish-white at the intruder. His wand is directed towards the threat even as his empty hand faces backwards, palm out, as if it is protecting.

The intruder is laughing, voice echoing eerily, and Credence shivers. He can see other Aurors further down the hallway, coats flapping as they approach. It is obvious, he thinks, that the intruder is no match for so many witches and wizards.

But then the intruder looks down at Credence and Graves turns, _no_ , desperate but controlled. Credence starts to shake his head, tell him to _fight_ , but the intruder strikes Graves and the man falls to his knees, arms locked against his body.

The intruder laughs and Credence reaches forward, crying out, terrified.

_Don’t hurt him-_

“Don’t-,” Graves says, realization lighting his eyes, but Credence feels his power shift and he cannot control it.

He burst forth, dark and formless, knocking away the intruder. The Aurors further down the hallway pause, suddenly shifting focus, and their wands raise-

_-a thousand pinpricks of light, so good yet so very wrong, piercing through him like holy knives as he feels himself rip apart at the seams-_

“ _Credence!_ ” Graves screams and it’s terrible and Credence doesn’t want him to scream like that, doesn’t want him to hurt anymore, so he turns back, wanting to comfort, but he can’t quite come out of this darkness yet.

He’s not sure how to reassemble himself.

“Come back,” Graves gasps, suddenly breaking the spell he’s under, arms unlocked as he scrambles to his feet to run towards Credence. “ _Come back_.”

Credence wants to tell him _I don’t know how_ , but he can feel himself shrinking, just a little smaller in size, a little less chaotic.

Graves opens his mouth to speak but then the Aurors behind him yell something and he turns, yelling back, _stop_ , but then wands are pointed at him and he spins out in front of Credence, arms raised protectively.

_Wait,_ Credence thinks distantly, but it is almost like a dream.

The wands flash and Graves flourishes his wand diagonally across his body- across _Credence_ \- right as they hit. The bright sparks impact against a wall of silver-blue and the force sends Graves flying, weightless, at the wall.

The man hits hard. Hard enough to make him lose breath and Credence turns to see, shocked, everything in him crying out.

He sees Graves blink, dazed, fighting for consciousness, and the last thing in his eyes is _come back_ before they close and he lies on the floor, motionless.

Credence screams.

* * *

Graves blinks, still dazed, and watches Credence walk towards him.

There is a dark mass swirling around them, protective. He wonders at the sight.

_Did he learn? Does he know how to use it?_

He isn’t sure what happened- he thinks he passed out, just for a moment, but he is awake now and all too aware of what has happened.

_They will try to take him. They’ll take him from me,_ Graves thinks, and his hand moves a little.

Credence kneels, eyes red, tears crystalline on his cheeks. His hands are hesitant when they move but Graves tries to smile.

It’s the first time he has, he thinks, and he is glad Credence is the one to see it.

“…Graves,” the boy manages, voice breaking a little, and his face is twisted in shame and sorrow when he sobs.

“Come back, Credence,” Graves breathes, still a little lost, winded and dazed from the impact.

The boy nods and his hands finally reach Graves, gently guiding his head into his lap. Graves want to laugh a little, amused and not a little pleased at the action. He sighs, wondering if Credence thinks he’s too far gone to remember what is happening.

He hopes Credence makes a habit out of it. He likes the feeling of the boy’s fingers combing through his hair.

* * *

Tina breathlessly pushes to the front of the crowd, dread pulling at her stomach at the thought of what waits for her at the end of the hall. When she emerges, she stops, shocked.

Credence is there, fully formed, and Graves’s head is in his lap.

She lets a little happy and relieved noise leave her mouth, tears abating as she sees them there, _safe_.

She walks fearlessly towards the pair, ignoring the others in the hall, and leans down to meet Credence’s gaze.

“Let’s get him looked at, okay?”


	2. Fianto Duri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are little things Graves does to protect Credence.

“… _what_?”

Credence looks scared. His eyes are wide, brows furrowed. Graves notices with interest that the reddish color around the boy’s eyes has never faded- he thinks now that the flushing is natural. It makes him feel a little less like he’s failing at making Credence feel safe.

Or at least, he was.

“It’ll be safe,” Graves tries, careful, reassuring. “I won’t be hurt. No one else will be.”

Credence seems reticent. He is on the verge of shaking his head.

“But- how do you know? I could hurt- I could hurt _others._ ”

“You mean the no-maj.”

Credence pauses and Graves remembers _until recently, Credence was almost one of them_.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You won’t,” Graves promises, firm. “I’ll make sure of it.”

* * *

Graves is murmuring spells, his hands moving in tandem over his head. Credence watches from close to the doorway, looking back to see Tina and Picquery standing there.

Picquery only looks mildly displeased. She really mostly looks worried- Credence can grudgingly allow her that much; she seems to be concerned about Graves.

Tina is also a little worried, he thinks, but it’s only what seems to be her average level of anxiety. Credence can understand.

_Living in a world like this- with magic._

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Picquery says, arms crossed over the gold sequins on her dress.

“No,” Graves calls to her, still waving his hands. “But it’s not a bad one, either.”

Tina laughs a little and Credence relaxes, reassured. In his time with Newt, before Graves escaped the hospital, he’d learned a bit about Tina. She’s nice, he thinks, and the sort of woman who has almost fit the role of older sister in his new, strange life.

“I’ll be outside the whole time,” Tina smiles at Credence, nodding.

Picquery casts him a long look before she turns, heels tapping lightly, preceding Tina on her way out.

“Are you ready?”

Credence turns, heart hammering.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Graves smiles, hesitating for less time now.

Credence notices this with pleasure that he feels guilty for (and then he stops feeling bad, because he’s been developing the same habit as Graves, this habit of not being so careful).

Credence can’t speak so he nods, breathing deeply, and Graves comes closer.

“All you have to do is let go,” Graves says slowly, watching. “You don’t have to be angry. There’s no danger. Just let it go.”

Credence breathes, in and out, and he tries to think of how to let go. _How do I let go when all I’ve known is holding it in?_ It’s almost like he’s training himself not to catch with his right hand; it’s a reflex by now, so ingrained that it’s become a thoughtless act.

Graves must notice his anxiety (of course he does) because he steps even closer and Credence can’t move back (or maybe he doesn’t want to) and then he’s close enough that Credence can see every dark eyelash. He doesn’t breathe for fear of blowing the man away like a dream, a particularly good cloud of fantasy.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Credence replies, unable to take his eyes away from Graves’ dark ones.

He thinks he should tear himself away but he _can’t_ , he can only look and get locked in.

Graves’s hand is on the back of his head and then he bends closer and Credence holds his breath, eyelids fluttering. There are warm lips on his forehead and he is pure _bliss_ , disgustingly joyful despite the simplicity of the act.

He thinks he can feel his heart skipping and racing in his chest and he can’t imagine that it could be in his chest anymore. It’s running so fast. It’s gone, somewhere in the room, racing around their warm bodies. Something else follows his heart out of his body (or maybe it _is_ his heart; who can say).

It happens that way, Credence’s skin buzzing with the contact he receives and the warm spice of Graves.

He feels himself- or maybe a part of himself- lift away. It rises, odd and floating like the people he’s seen relaxing in pools in magazines with moving pictures. It’s there and not there and he is still himself, almost whole and concrete as a person but also _not_. He is also smoke and darkness- but it’s not the oil-dark of fear or anger anymore; it’s ink in water, artistic and thin.

“Good. Good, Credence,” Graves whispers, quiet- always quiet. “Can you speak to me?”

_Maybe,_ Credence thinks, so he tries.

“ _I…did something,_ ” Credence says, intrigued when his voice sounds to him like it’s passing through a thin veil of something.

He looks down at himself, unblemished palms just nearly transparent. What was once a mass of swirling, vine-like darkness has become a smooth black-grey. It lazily swirls and he wonders at it, the way it looks like smoke.

“You did,” Graves encourages, eyes bright. “You’ve done well, Credence. Better, really, than anyone could dare hope.”

“What do I do, like this?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.”

_Thank you,_ Credence thinks, _for being truthful._

Later, after some time, Graves coaxes him back into his solid body. It doesn’t take long; Credence thinks that Graves is close and he wants to _feel_ the man’s hands again, the rough fingers on his cheek. He shamefully desires that touch so he pulls back slowly, drawing into his body inch by inch, relishing the contact as Graves brings him back.

He is starting to forget what he shouldn’t want.

* * *

“He’s not dangerous,” Graves says.

His voice is steady but Credence can hear the thorny edge to it. He leans against the door, tense, and Tina tries to smile reassuringly at him from across the doorway.

They’re technically supposed to be waiting in the other room. Tina had taken one look at Credence and the way he shrank into his seat and had led him to the door.

“Your judgement is not exactly unbiased,” Picquery says, soft and dangerous.

_She’s threatening him,_ Credence realizes, a spur of anger taking hold in his chest. He feels himself shift a little, an inch of shadow slipping from his fingers.

Tina’s hand rests on his wrist.

He looks at her, surprised, and sees determination in her eyes. _Wait,_ she seems to say.

“…and yours is?” he hears Graves reply, almost too quiet to hear through the heavy door.

“More so than yours.”

“I beg to differ. Madam President, I underwent thorough examination under _your_ orders. _You_ had me examined by the best. Tell me- what did they say? I was never told the results. Did you accept me back because I was fine, or because you _needed_ me?”

Tina’s eyes are wide. Credence feels his lips twitch a little in triumph. _A sin,_ he thinks, _just like pride_.

_But I don’t care._

“…you have always tested me,” Picquery concludes. Credence imagines her shaking her head.

“With all due respect, Madam President, you need someone who does not blindly follow orders. You need someone with autonomy.”

“Do I?” Picquery asks, half-amused and half-exasperated.

Tina smiles privately, eyes encouraging as she nods at Credence. _It’s fine. You’ll be fine._

Footsteps echo against the floor and Tina’s eyes widen comically as she reaches out. A second passes and Credence turns, single-minded, and then he swirls and slips out of himself, shooting like pressurized air, suddenly solid again as he sits in a chair at the far end of the room.

Tina, mouth hanging open, is still staring at him from the doorway when it opens to reveal Picquery. She raises an eyebrow, expression halfway between annoyed and resigned, and Tina’s mouth works as she tries to come up with something.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Autonomy,” Graves murmurs at her as he slips by, mouth twitching.

He doesn’t fully smile until his back is to Picquery. It’s a mischievous, secret smile and Credence can’t help smiling back.

He ignores Picquery’s startled look, rising to follow Graves out.

* * *

Graves has always been careful using magic around Credence. He isn’t sure of the details surrounding Grindelwald’s deception but he knows that magic is a complicated subject for Credence. Recently, however, he feels that the boy has come to a tenuous compromise.

Credence doesn’t seem repulsed or frightened by magic anymore. He certainly doesn’t seem drawn to it, but he is less startled by little things.

“I’d like to show you something,” Graves says quietly when they get home.

He doesn’t think _my home_ anymore. It’s just _home_.

Credence tilts his head, a mannerism Graves finds unspeakably endearing, and his eyes are questioning.

“What is it?”

“A private place of mine,” Graves admits, willing to reveal a little. “I think you’ll like it.”

* * *

He presses his fingers to the wood of the door, opening it with his other hand. The dark wood sighs, accepting him, the charm buzzing over the pads of his fingers.

When he opens the door, he hears Credence inhale sharply, gasping.

It is almost an entirely different world.

There are bookshelves that reach to the ceiling. Here and there a few books float lazily, rearranging themselves as sliding ladders position themselves closer to the two men at the door. There are a few soft chairs in different areas, stacks of books drifting home from where they are resting by the seating. The carpet is soft, almost woolen, and Graves steps out of his shoes to enter the room.

“Come,” he invites Credence.

The boy doesn’t take his eyes off the room, looking around in dazed wonder as he follows Graves inside.

There is a window at the far end of the room. It reflects Graves’ mind- at the moment, it changes softly, warm sunlight and a golden field stretching into a distance that doesn’t exist.

“It’s beautiful,” Credence manages, turning slowly as if he’s afraid to disturb the room.

Graves feels his heart expand a little.

“You can come here whenever you like. It’s quiet, and it will only open to us.”

Credence turns a little on the word _us_.

_Yes. Us,_ Graves thinks, hoping. He hopes Credence trusts him enough. Hopes he’s not overstepping.

“Thank you,” Credence says, wondering, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Graves laughs a little, nervous, looking away for a moment because the sunlight behind Credence illuminates him painfully.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

He guides Credence further, towards the window and a little nook between the sill and a bookshelf. There, in the corner, is his special piece of heaven.

There is a tree paradoxically growing on a spot of soft, green grass. The spot is lined with flowers, bright colors here and there capturing the light like stained glass.

When he turns to look, Credence is smiling.

* * *

 

They are entering MACUSA and a wizard- young, Credence thinks- falls into step.

“New guy?” the man asks Graves, amused, surveying Credence with a critical gaze.

“And you are-?” Graves asks, somewhat startled but still cool.

He seems to resent the intruder’s filling of the space between them. Credence resents it as well.

“Oh- Smith, sir. Just completed training. You’re an Auror, right? No one else dresses that nice,” Smith laughs, nudging Credence.

It’s a bit too personal for Credence, but it’s not intrusive yet so he just glances at the taller man, faking a shaky smile and nod.

“Do you have somewhere to _be_ , Smith?” Graves asks.

The question probably sounds calm to the young man but Credence can hear the grit teeth behind the words. He tries to catch Graves’ eye to reassure him, _I’m fine_ , but then Smith does the unthinkable.

He slings an arm around Credence’s shoulders, the weight heavy on the neck. Credence freezes, shocked, wanting to move out from under the arm that seems to be crushing him with its force.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll just take-,”

“He is _my_ \- assistant,” Graves hisses, recovering from the almost imperceptible stumble. “You will take him _nowhere_.”

Smith stops in his tracks, mouth hanging open at the sudden change in character. He swallows, arm sliding away, and glances at Credence.

Credence isn’t looking anywhere but at Graves. The man seems to have grown ten times bigger, standing squarely before the two, staring hard at Smith. There is a flicker of something in his eyes- Credence thinks it is protectiveness- and that flicker is breathtaking.

“My apologies, Mister-,”

“Graves. Percival Graves.”

Smith blanches and Credence fights the mean-spirited urge to laugh. He knows Graves is an important man; it is interesting to see someone respond to a name in such a violent manner.

“Sir- I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t-,” Smith tries, fumbling.

“I believe you have somewhere to be,” Graves reminds him gently, backing off a little, but his gaze is still firm.

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” the man repeats, bowing a little before he rushes away.

Graves watches Smith go, silent, and then he turns to Credence. Everything about him seems to soften just a fraction, an almost invisible release that Credence follows with hungry eyes.

“Are you all right?” Graves asks, gruff. His hands reach, but they are hesitant.

Credence does not want the hesitation, so he steps forward, into the open hands. Graves’ eyes darken and his fingers press into Credence’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Credence says lightly, flicking his eyes up through thick bangs to meet Graves’ eyes.

“…good,” Graves manages, voice rough.

He seems to be on the edge of some strange sort of control and Credence wants to _break_ it. He isn’t sure why or how but he tries moving closer, wanting (something, but what it is he either can’t or won’t admit).

Credence can hear Graves stop breathing and he fights a smile, thinking _do I affect him?_ It makes him inordinately pleased, this apparent reciprocation; he knows Graves has said _we’re equals_ but he’s never really seen something like this, some evidence of the strange magnetism Credence always feels.

“Mister Graves-,”

“I think,” Graves interrupts, bending down, voice husky in Credence’s ear, “it would be best _not_ to…in the middle of the building.”

Credence blinks, suddenly embarrassed, but as Graves withdraws his stubbly cheek brushes Credence. It is a strange sensation, but not unwanted. It’s reassuring. Promising, almost.

“Maybe…,” Credence tries, watching the way Graves sways closer to hear him.

“Oh, good-,” Tina says, suddenly barreling into existence, “-I wanted to tell you Newt’s coming today. Would you like to join me-?”

Her question dies on her lips (probably because of Credence’s disbelieving glare) but Graves sighs, accepting the loss of the moment, and turns to the woman.

“Yes, Tina. We would love to.”

Tina looks confused, but she nods, turning to lead the way out. Graves casts Credence a backwards glance.

_Timing_.

That is what his look says, but he still reaches back to gently hold Credence’s wrist with his callused fingers.

Credence ducks his head to hide his smile.

_Timing,_ he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could cut the tension with a knife. Jeez. I wanted this to be a slow burn but it's turning into a 'caveman discovers fire' kind of burn. Well, hopefully you enjoyed this latest installment. I hope I'm capturing Credence's growth as well as Graves'. Honestly, I just love the idea of Graves as a very protective person (considering his job and possible personality). I guess we'll see where that goes!


	3. Repello Inimicum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needing and giving are two parts of one cycle, much like Graves and Credence are two parts of one unnamed thing.

They walk down the steps of a bookstore, Credence carrying their latest haul- he’s adorable, Graves thinks, when his eyes light up at a particularly good find- and then there’s a bump and an _oh_ and suddenly Credence is stumbling down the unforgiving stairs.

He sees the fool boy protecting the books to the last, one arm curled protectively around the bag.

“Credence,” he nearly exclaims, barely able to keep his voice down as the noontime crowd parts around them.

The boy rights himself a little, dazed, blinking. He looks down at the bag, face falling when he sees the edge of a fallen paperback staining slowly with rainwater.

“The books-,” he starts, one hand moving, and Graves sees a smear of bright red.

He ignores the crowd, using its cover as he presses close to Credence, disapparating them into his apartment.

“It’s not the books I care about,” Graves admonishes, unthinking.

He pulls Credence’s hand into his, brow furrowed as he examines the injuries. He almost fixes them right there but he pauses, remembering. He looks up to ask permission- _I won’t do what he did-_ and then he stops, floored by the expression on Credence’s face.

He is wondering, eyes bright and warm and wide as he stares at Graves.

“Would you allow me?” Graves asks, low, quiet because he doesn’t want to break whatever _this_ is.

“Yes,” Credence replies, matching his whisper.

So Graves lightly presses his fingers to Credence’s hand, watching the skin mend and the blood wipe away. He can feel Credence’s pulse pounding under his thumb, sure and steady. He is just thinking _I should say something_ , so he looks up-

-only to see Credence leaning forward, face a mere breath away.

And of course his eyes are drawn lower and of course Credence notices, a small noise escaping his mouth, hurt and wonder and hope, _please don’t hurt me_.

Graves wants to promise him, _I won’t do what he did,_ so he does the only thing he can think of and moves to cover Credence’s mouth, willing the hurt to stop spilling from it, hoping the boy can taste the promise.

_Oh_.

It is not what he thought it was- this is not comfort, he realizes, because while he is giving, Credence is giving, too. He is leaning closer and Graves wants to laugh, _that’s my boy,_ proud at the unafraid creature he sees before him.

_Give and take and timing,_ he thinks, and he’s smiling when they meet in the middle.

* * *

Credence can’t help himself.

It had been the way the man had said _it’s not the books I care about_ , the way he’d looked so worried, the way he had waited to ask for permission before healing.

He hadn’t forced it.

When Grave's hand touches him, so light and careful, Credence thinks that those hands can drive away the darkness, too.

So he lets himself move closer and his heart nearly explodes when he watches Graves’ eyes hover on his lips before they magnetize, the same strange thing- _magic?_ – drawing them together just as it always has.

He sees the beginnings of a smile on Grave’s lips before they meet and he thinks it’s just the same as his. Mirror images, push and pull, equivalent.

He had never expected it, so when it happens, he is almost incoherent, mind drifting somewhere far away.

_His lips are warm,_ Credence thinks, _and he is warm_. Graves is warm and careful and Credence is so thankful for the care, so grateful that even in this lapse the man is still considering just how fragile this thing (whatever it is) is.

He _wants_ more, but Graves backs away slowly, still holding Credence’s hand, careful.

“Credence?”

It’s a question. He is making sure, checking. Graves’ voice is low and Credence relishes the sound, knowing it is _him_ that made the change. His mouth is still warm, still tingling with electricity, and he doesn’t want to open it, lest the magic escape.

So he raises his now-uninjured hand, feeling, brushing the stubble that always appears this time of day (even if Graves shaves in the morning).

And he smiles.

* * *

Newt and Tina greet them at the café, smiling.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Scamander,” Graves says politely.

Credence knows it’s heartfelt from the little tilt of Graves’ head, the way he extends his hand, the shift in his shoulders.

“And you as well,” Newt smiles, soft. He turns. “How are you, Credence?”

“Well,” Credence says, and he cannot fight the small smile on his face.

Tina nearly gasps but Newt simply _looks_ , eyes questioning, and then they must find their answer because he ducks his head with a secret smile.

“That’s good to hear.”

* * *

Graves and Tina are called away as they are vising the bookshop.

“Will you be all right?” Graves asks, but it is no longer half so concerned as it was before.

“Yes,” Credence replies, unable to help the way his hand moves to touch the man’s elbow for just a moment.

“…right. I’ll be back,” Graves smiles, quick, before turning to leave with Tina.

Credence watches him go and then he wanders, fingers running over the ancient spines of books without names.

“It’s nice to see you two so comfortable,” Newt murmurs, eyes sparkling from beneath his messy hair, head tilted towards his shoulder.

“…he helped me,” Credence explains, unsure why he has to but somehow compelled.

“Yes. And you helped him,” Newt adds, reaching above his head for a book bound in green.

“Perhaps. A little.”

“More than a little, I think,” Newt chuckles.

Credence reaches for a dark book, brown leather, and pulls it out. It smells like old paper and vanilla. _Graves will like it,_ he thinks.

“He’s good to you?” Newt asks, careful.

Credence blinks. Turns, a little surprised. Newt looks sure (and maybe a little embarrassed for asking).

“It isn’t-,”

“It’s not my business,” Newt reassures him. “I’m only making sure. For you.”

Credence pauses. _He’s telling the truth,_ he thinks. _And he’s nice. He let me stay with him. With his creatures._ He still remembers the odd things, almost frightening at first but mystifying in their outlandish beauty and trust in him.

Other than Graves, they were some of the first things to show trust in him.

“He is,” Credence finally says, smiling at the book in his hand. He can almost imagine the tree in the sanctuary. “He is very good.”

“…good,” Newt finally says, nodding, before handing his own book to Credence. “He wanted you to have this. I saw him reaching for it before he was called away.”

Credence looks at the cover and smiles.

_He’s very good to me._

* * *

 

Graves wakes with a start, hearing labored breathing and unintelligible cries.

_Credence_.

He rises immediately, disregarding his shirt and blanket, and quickly moves down the hallway. Credence is there, in the bed, shaking his head. He thrashes under the covers and Graves moves as quietly as he can, worried.

“Shh- it’s only a dream. Credence, wake up. It’s only a dream,” he murmurs, feeling the boy’s hot skin beneath his hands.

Credence wakes with a start, eyes wide and foggy with sleep. He seems confused for a second but then he sighs, hand reaching up to cover Graves’ on his shoulder.

“Graves,” he breathes, blinking rapidly.

“What was it?” Graves asks quietly, using his free hand to smooth away Credence’s bangs where they stick to his forehead with sweat. “You had a bad dream.”

“Nothing,” the boy breathes, “it was nothing. I don’t remember.”

Graves nods, waiting, letting Credence get his breath back. He wants to be sure nothing is wrong. After a few minutes he presses a hand to Credence’s cheek, enjoying the way he turns into it.

“Sleep. I’m here.”

“…stay?”

It’s an innocent question but Graves pauses, understanding the possibilities.

“Are you sure?”

Credence blinks owlishly, fingers tracing some pattern on the back of Graves’ hand.

“I’m sure.”

* * *

 

Credence tangles around Graves, wanting to be closer.

When he wakes in the morning he nudges closer to the warmth and spice encompassing him, savoring the heat of Graves’ exposed skin.

“…you’re awake,” Graves rumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

Credence shivers a little when he hears the voice, close to his ear, accompanied by the whisper of breath. He smiles, tracing circles on Graves’ back.

“I am.”

Graves exhales slowly and Credence delights in the muscles he feels stretching under his fingers as the man stretches.

“Not quite,” Graves says and Credence hears the note of mischief in the man’s voice.

He is just tilting his head back, questioning, when he feels a hand on the small of his back, sneaking below his shirt.

“Ah-,” he starts, surprised at the touch and the warmth that blossoms inside of him.

He catches a brief glimpse of Graves’ pleased expression before the man kisses him, soft and warm, beard scratchy but not unpleasant. Credence sighs into the kiss, wanting more contact, and he raises his hand to bury it in the sleep-tousled locks of the older man’s hair.

“ _Now_ you’re awake,” Graves mumbles against his mouth, and Credence smiles, fighting a laugh.

“For an old man, you’re quite childish,” he says, and then he blinks, shocked at his own words.

He can feel the heat flooding his face and he’s worried for a second but Graves gazes down at him, astonished, before laughing.

“That’s my boy,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling, and Credence wants nothing more than to reach up and kiss him again.

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone explain to me how this happened. I only meant to write a little series and then these two knocked on the back door of my mind and just wouldn't go away.  
> I hope this lived up to your expectations. It's by no means over- I have more that I'd like to do- but this is it. This is the thing we were waiting for.  
> It only gets better from here.


	4. Protego Maxima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence is coming out of his shell and Graves is letting himself be a bit more free.

“It’s difficult,” the man says, appraising, circling Credence.

Graves bites back on his anger just a small amount, leaving only the barest hint of annoyance in his voice when he speaks.

“Please explain.”

“He certainly _has_ magic…but it’s not the same. It’s…separate from him, now.”

“Separate?”

“Witches and wizards have magic, Mr. Graves,” the man sighs, spectacles slipping down his nose. “This…it’s become _removed_ from what it should be. It’s inside of him, to be sure, but it is no longer pervasive. This is not a matter of ability any more. You could no more train your wand to practice spells than you could train him.”

“He is not a _tool_ ,” Graves says lowly, dangerous, stepping just a bit closer.

The man shrinks a little, clearing his throat as he looks away. Graves continues to stare. He feels an unreasonably large flare in his chest at the insinuation. He can see Credence move out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank you,” Picquery tells the man, effectively dismissing him. She sends Graves a _look_.

_You know better._

Perhaps he does. He just doesn’t care much now.

The man leaves and Graves turns to Credence, feeling just a little defeated. _I promised him,_ he thinks, _that I would help him_.

And what can he do?

Credence catches his gaze, resignation written across his face, and there’s something in the way he looks at Graves. He’s trying to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Picquery tells Graves, although she’s staring at Credence. “There’s not much I can do. We can discuss this later.”

So she leaves and Graves exhales, trying to find the words.

“…he told me that I could learn magic,” Credence muses, eyes meeting Graves’.

_Oh_.

**_Oh._ **

_He told him, with my face and my voice and my hands-_

“I know it wasn’t you,” Credence interrupts his thoughts, fingers enclosing Graves’ wrist.

“No. But it was-,” he searches for a word, for _something_ , to explain.

To explain that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t want Grindelwald to be _here_ , constantly resurfacing, always somehow between them.

“I didn’t expect it to be true,” Credence says, half-smile a little ironic.

“I want to help you,” Graves insists, firm, gripping both of the boy’s hands. “I _want_ you to be able to have what you want.”

Credence’s expression changes. He seems to have realized something and Graves hopes he’s gotten the message across, communicated just how much he _hates_ being unable to do anything.

“…I only wanted to leave the shadows,” Credence says, cool hands on Graves’ face. “and you did that. You helped me do that.”

“-oh,” the word escapes, sudden as the revelation, and Graves feels his breath dissipate in his chest.

“That’s all,” Credence says simply. “I only wanted to live freely. Unafraid.”

_Unafraid,_ Graves thinks, a little dazed, and so he ignores the fact that they’re still in MACUSA and tilts Credence’s chin with careful fingers, leaning down, a promise and a seal at once.

_We are free,_ it says.

* * *

Tina walks in on Graves and Credence kissing and she chokes, tea spilling from her nose.

Graves turns to look at her, a little fond and annoyed, trying to suppress a smile. Tina coughs and pretends to be uninterested, ignoring the way Credence studiously stares at the floor with a fiery-red face.

“G-Graves,” she acknowledges, trying for casual and failing when the name comes out in a croak.

When Graves turns away she gets a glimpse of a smile moving across his face like lightning.

* * *

Credence is waiting for Graves. The man had left his office, called away, leaving Credence with a lingering kiss on the forehead.

_If Picquery’s letter comes, put it in the fireplace._

He’s sitting, sipping tea, when a man passes by.

“Graves-,” the man starts, ducking in through the partly-open door, but he cuts himself off when he sees the empty chair.

“…he’ll be back soon,” Credence explains quietly, proud of his ability to speak.

_It’s a personal choice,_ Graves had reassured him months ago. _You do not have to talk to **anyone** , Credence. Especially not me._

He hadn’t talked to anyone, in the beginning.

“Huh. Too bad. That’s Val, back at work already.”

_Val_?

The man notices his expression and he laughs, stepping inside, hands in his pockets as he surveys the room.

“We went to school together. I can get away with calling him by his first name.”

Credence is silent. He examines the man carefully, unsure. _Well-dressed, and scars on his hands. Probably an Auror, too_. The man seems somehow… _less_ than Graves, though. He is more familiar- more relatable; commonplace.

“…you went to school together?”

_I’m not envious_ , he tells himself, but he knows he’s lying.

“Yes. He was different then,” the man notes, “but not much.”

“Different how?”

“Brighter. He was quite popular,” the man laughs, “with everyone. Teachers, students, parents- he was a diligent student and a fantastic friend. He would sneak out sometimes- we all did- but he was smart about it. People liked him because he never left anyone behind. Everyone was invited.”

Credence feels himself smiling a little. He can imagine Graves, bright-eyed and smart, leading other students into town. Making sure everyone felt included.

“It’s not hard to imagine,” Credence ventures, looking at the empty chair.

“No. He’s a keeper,” the man explains, grinning, and Credence almost spits his tea out.

“…o-oh?” he manages, trying desperately not to blush.

“MACUSA changed him, though,” the man says quietly, looking around the room.

“How?”

“Picquery was fond of him. From the very beginning she favored him, I think. Of course, none of us begrudged him that- he was competent and likable; she saw that. It was taxing, though. He was always the good soldier. Always on the front lines.”

Credence swallows his tea, thinking the burn in his chest is not just the heat. _I knew she seemed different with him,_ he thinks. _That’s why._

Graves, a good soldier. Doing what was necessary. Putting himself in harm’s way.

“…I wish he wouldn’t,” he murmurs, and surprises himself.

The man looks at Credence for a second, considering.

“Yes. You know- everyone likes him well enough. They don’t really _know_ him, though. He was always on a pedestal. You can’t reach others on a pedestal.”

“…I think he always feels that way,” Credence ventures. “He’s like that. Always wants you to know you’re equals.”

The man nods, tapping the envelope in his hand against his leg. He moves towards the fireplace in the corner, leaning against it casually. Credence tries not to squirm under his gaze.

“Robert,” Graves’ surprised voice issues from the doorway.

“Val! I was looking for you. Wanted to give you something,” Robert says, and Credence tries to look inconspicuous.

“What is it?”

“Picquery wanted me to give you this letter,” the man starts, straightening suddenly.

Robert moves too fast for Credence to see what happens- he watches the paper float from the man’s hand, rocking gently in the air, and then it slips into the fireplace.

Credence blinks, shocked.

“Oh. That’s too bad. She’ll have my head for that,” he muses, unconcerned. “…oh well.”

He smiles and pats Graves’ arm, walking past him, and when he does he _winks_ at Credence.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says, bending to shake his hand. And then he whispers. “Take good care of each other.”

Robert leaves and Graves turns, shaking his head a little, but there’s a small smile on his face.

* * *

Queenie explains Quidditch to Credence when he visits for tea one day. He had only asked whether students at magic schools had extracurricular activities.

“Oooh, Mr. Graves used to play Quidditch,” she’d said, and Credence perks up.

“What’s that?”

She’s telling him about the positions when she says _Keeper_ and it clicks.

Credence blushes a deep red, embarrassed, and he is glad that Queenie is a legilimens (even though he’s always been nervous to be around her, with his past trauma) because he doesn’t have to say anything.

“Aw, honey. He _is_ a keeper, though,” she smiles brightly and Credence ducks his head in an attempt to hide the spreading blush.

* * *

One night, Graves is so exhausted after work that he falls asleep as soon as he sits on the couch. Credence leaves him be, retrieving a blanket from the closet, and goes to bed. He leaves the bedroom door open (this is becoming common) because he wants to the man to be the first thing he sees.

He wakes in the early hours of the morning because something is _wrong_.

Graves is twisted in pain, shaking, panting as he curls on his side.

“Graves!”

Credence is across the apartment in a moment, swirling in and out of smoke, hands reforming as they touch the Auror.

Graves gasps, eyes opening, and for a moment, Credence sees scars there. He bites his lip, hating the pain he feels emanating from the man, and then there is silence.

“…Credence,” Graves manages, hand barely shaking as he wipes his brow. “Did I wake you?”

“Nightmare?”

Graves sighs, pulling the blanket back over his shoulders in the fall chill. His eyes are far away, and Credence wants to pull him back.

“Yes. I’m sorry for waking you.”

He is still distant, so Credence chances it, fingers reaching out to lace behind Grave’s neck. He can only think of what Graves did to try and comfort him. _It worked_.

“Come back,” he whispers, kneeling, watching recognition and wonder light Graves’ eyes.

He can see when Graves comes back to his body, apology and thanks all at once, and he smiles.

“There you are,” he says simply, pleased, and he tilts his head to kiss him.

_I am here,_ he thinks, and that is the bond between them, Graves humming in relief against his mouth. 

* * *

 

They are out walking- it is nothing, Graves thinks, just another day- and then some fanatic knocks Credence into the mud as they run past.

Graves itches to knock the man’s head into the ground but he ignores the temptation, focusing on the dirty figure at his feet.

Credence is there, sitting, looking for all the world more bemused than injured.

“Are you all right?”

“…I’m fine,” Credence says slowly, raising a hand to twist his arm, surveying the filthy edges of his white shirt.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

* * *

 

In the apartment, Graves runs a bath.

He’s never said it, but he secretly enjoys the way Credence uses some of his things and ends up smelling like him by the next day. Graves pretends it’s all okay; he just buys soap more frequently.

“We should get you new clothes,” Graves notes, unbuttoning the collar on Credence’s dirtied shirt. “I’ve been meaning to, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. It’s getting colder.”

Credence opens his mouth and Graves shakes his head, stopping him.

“It won’t be a problem. You’ll get sick if we don’t get you a proper coat, anyways. And don’t say-,”

“Mister Graves,” Credence interrupts, and the volume of his voice makes Graves pause. “I can undress myself.”

Graves freezes.

Credence’s mouth is twisted into a humorous smile and his eyes twinkle, partly mischievous and extremely fond.

“I’m…sorry,” Graves says slowly, realizing, removing his hands. _God. Was I just-_

The length of the entire shirt is unbuttoned. It is accusingly open.

“My arm…,” Credence starts, pausing, finding words, “…I may need help.”

He looks up at Graves through dark hair, cheeks deceptively flushed, and Graves swallows.

“Do you, now? I could just…,” he motions with his hand, fighting a smile.

“No,” Credence says immediately, and he ducks his head further, rubbing it with his loose-sleeved arm. “No, I…”

They stand in charged silence for a minute but Graves takes pity, unable to ignore the heat in the room. _I’m making things difficult for the both of his,_ he thinks in amusement. _It isn’t as if I would say no_.

“All right,” Graves says, smirking. “I suppose it would be hard for you to find all the mud in your hair, anyways.”

Credence bites his lip to stop his smile from growing and Graves laughs, enjoying it when Credence joins in.

He thinks it’s the first time he’s heard Credence laugh and he revels in it, allowing privacy as he turns his back to put his shirt on the counter.

He expects he won’t come out of the bathroom dry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was over...  
> So! This is probably the end of this particular fic. From here I don't know if the series will continue or if I'll do a one-shot dump. I'm thinking of a one-shot dump purely because it would allow me to write scenes you specifically ask for. Let me know?  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! My next piece is definitely going to be suit shopping. SUIT SHOPPING.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the movie for the second time with a friend who hadn't seen it. I realized- in more detail- just how incredible those scenes with Credence and Graves/Grindelwald were. It made me wonder again just what Credence and the real Graves would be like on screen. Anyways, enjoy!


End file.
